


You Pushed Me

by gremlins-came-and-got-me (Scared_Beings_in_the_Dark)



Series: If I'm Falling [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek's Still Broken, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kate was Evil, M/M, Object Insertion (mentioned), PTSD, Rape/Non-con Elements, The Sheriff Wants to Help, underage (mentioned)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-21 22:23:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7407454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scared_Beings_in_the_Dark/pseuds/gremlins-came-and-got-me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek's still falling into older men's beds. Instead of grizzled, grieving ex-Hunters though, it's the local sheriff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Pushed Me

**Author's Note:**

> Read the tags, heed any warnings.
> 
> Also, spoilers through Season 4 (and make note: this was mostly written during the end of 2015 with absolutely no regard to any further canon).
> 
> Unbetaed, all mistakes are my own.
> 
> Apologies for any medical mistakes.

~*~

Derek’s still falling into older men’s beds. Chris, even though it had only been the once, had taken some time to break his habit of climbing the stairs and camping outside the Argents’ door, waiting for it to swing open with a gruff, “Derek.” The hunter running to France had helped considerably.

Now, it’s the Sheriff Derek finds himself with.

It had been a simple invitation, a “You look rattled, son, come with me.” Derek ignores the way it feels like he’s a puppy trailing after the Sheriff.

All told, it’s rather comforting to curl up on the foot of the bed, with the Sheriff’s cold feet pressed against his stomach.

Derek blinks slowly, forcefully, as the Sheriff turns pages on his thriller. Every so often he stares at him over the tops of his glasses. Derek ignores him in favor of counting the flowers on the bedspread.

The Sheriff sighs suddenly, and his feet move, kicking slightly as he disentangles himself from Derek.

“Speak up, kid, I can’t hear you,” he says, and Derek notes a fond sound in his tone.

“What do you want me to say?” Derek thinks of Stiles, upstairs, picking away at his computer, complaining to Scott about homework or something inane. Stiles can talk about anything and everything. Derek? Not so much.

The Sheriff taps his foot against Derek’s side, sighing again as he sets his book down and folds his legs. He pats the bed beside him, staring at Derek expectantly until he crawls to the spot and settles, limbs loose and back tense.

The Sheriff runs a hand over Derek’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “I want you to tell me about yourself,” he says, kindly. “Tell me what you like to do for fun, where you go when you run, what foods you like, things like that.”

“Um,” Derek says. He doesn’t do this, doesn’t let people know him. Well, he would, except Laura (Kate) taught him it gave people power over him. Like, saying his true name, if he were Fae.

“Um,” he says again, trying to remember everything the Sheriff said. “I like to read?”

He does. And not just murder-mysteries, like the stack on the Sheriff’s nightstand.

He has a bookcase filled to the brim with medical journals (just because he heals doesn’t mean he’s not interested in seeing what would and could happen to a human with the same injuries—and it hasn’t escaped his notice that he should be dead a dozen-plus times over, including some of Kate’s _affections_ ). He keeps his research books stacked neatly in the Hole-in-the-Wall closet and his pleasure reading under the bed.

Still, the Sheriff looks unsure and gives him an indulging smile.

“Uh, I run around the old property.” The Sheriff recoils a bit. Yeah, it’s where his family died, where they were murdered, but it’s also the closest he’s ever felt to them. Even driving Laura’s Camaro or wearing his dad’s jacket hadn’t made him feel _home_ , just really, incredibly guilty (lonely).

“Foods,” he sighs. It’s not that he doesn’t like food, but everything tastes of dust or blood and he really only indulges in sustenance when it feels like his insides are going to turn into outsides or when other people watch him expectantly. Although, his aunt, dead of natural causes before he was twelve, used to make this thing she called Chipmunk Pie, even though it had no chipmunks in it. He thinks he used to like it, and mumbles as such to the Sheriff, whose eyes go kind and squinty, like he’s trying to hide amusement.

“Things like that,” the Sheriff prompts a few seconds later. “Derek, I want you to talk to me about you. I don’t want to have to ask all the questions.”

“You might have to,” Derek says. He ducks his head and stares at his lap where his hands are fisted, claws digging into the skin. He slowly straightens his fingers, wincing at the bloody, healing pockmarks made from his claws.

A hand drops onto his neck and he jerks, flailing right off the bed. He manages to tumble gracelessly onto his feet, turning to stare at the Sheriff.

He’s frozen, the hand he’d used to touch Derek still raised, a shocked (disgusted) expression tight on his face.

“Sorry,” Derek mumbles, crawling back onto the foot of the bed. He lies on his back, head turned towards the Sheriff, watching him warily. “Last time that happened, I was asked about Kate,” he says softly.

“Do you want to tell me about Kate?” the Sheriff asks. Derek shakes his head. If he had his way, he’d never talk about Kate again. But, her fingerprints still burn him, taint him. So, he sighs and sits up.

“I don’t want you to help me,” he says, and the Sheriff nods. “I’m doing…fine.” It’s a lie, but it’s one the Sheriff is apparently ready to let him tell. He draws in a deep breath, almost choking on the sudden tears that well in his eyes. It feels like Chris all over again.

“I was sixteen the first time Kate…had sex. With me.” He wonders why he’s pausing. This is the part he’s rehearsed should anyone ever care to ask. But, practice doesn’t make it easier and he finds himself blinking rapidly to dispel the tears still in his eyes. It only makes them drip down his face.

The Sheriff makes a noise that sounds like anger and guilt but he doesn’t move, and Derek swallows a small sob to say, “She progressed quickly, and she wouldn’t listen when I said ‘no.’” He laughs bitterly. “I said ‘no’ a lot.” He thinks of the wolfsbane-laced gags and ropes that she used to bind him with. “She got tired of that, and took away my ability to speak.”

“The night of the fire?”

Derek shudders. This is another question he has practiced. Instead of the simple truth, ‘I was at school,’ though, he feels the heavier truth building on his tongue. “She was role-playing and she dragged me to the school where she…had sex with me in several of the classrooms.”

He’d thought the loss of sensation was because she’d covered a dildo with wolfsbane lubricant and shoved it into him with no preparation. Later, he’d found that it was because his family was dead.

It was a good thing she’d disappeared into the wind.

Laura had found him still tied down in the library, the dildo half in him, sobbing and choking on his gag. It was then that she’d decided they wouldn’t stay in Beacon Hills. And the psychiatrist she’d dragged Derek to the next day had agreed.

The Sheriff snorts. “Derek, she didn’t ‘have sex’ with you. She raped you.”

He flinches, hunching down and covering his ears with his hands. Laura’d said the same thing. Repeatedly. Didn’t make him believe it any more than the Sheriff telling him.

“I responded to her. I kept going back to her. Why would I do that if she was raping me?”

The Sheriff rubs at his eyes wearily. “Derek, I’ve seen cases of abuse that sound almost identical to yours. Yes, some people keep returning to their abusers for any number of reasons. That doesn’t make it their fault.”

Derek laughs, the frustrated sound bubbling out of him. “I don’t think I want to talk about Kate anymore,” he says, and the Sheriff nods.

“We’ll let it be for now,” he says, reaching over to grab his book again. He pats the space next to him again, waiting until Derek is settled again before flipping it open to his bookmarked page. “But, Derek, this isn’t the end.”

Of course not. It never is.

All he hopes is that he’ll make it to the other side without losing much more of himself. From the way the Sheriff ignores him then, flipping pages almost too fast to actually be reading, Derek thinks he just might break.

God, he hopes not.

~ Fin ~

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize if my tags are inadequate. Please don't hesitate to let me know if something bothers you, needs more tags, or even if you just liked it.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
